Chapter 137 – In which one must confront their feelings (5)
Later in his life, Sangria would remark that on that faithful day, he had all of his assumptions about the Saint Amara broken.
Before meeting him, he assumed Amara was an indifferent, down-to-business ruler, who honed the skill of playing a perfect idol to impeccability.
That rumors based assumption was immediately dashed when he recognized him as the man who jumped through a window to save his Lord, Crimo.
Then, faced with a torrent of smiles, glances and barely disguised information coquetry, he thought him to be a young and naive of the world ruler, who simply throws himself at what he wants to do.
He was quickly corrected on that when Iben and two priests of the archive temple explained to him just what significance Amara’s behavior had.
That correction and subsequent conversation with Amara under the moon left Sangria with an image of a quiet lunatic, unrestrained and chaotic in his actions. The real goal a mystery.
But even that assumption faltered when the Saint declared so frankly and honestly that he planned to use Sangria in his political plot.
What that plot was, Sangria couldn’t imagine.
So at current moment, Sangria could only manage a very eloquent and confused:
“I’m sorry?”
The Saint gave him a look of pure pity, that made Sangria even more embarrassed.
Amara just drained another cup of wine, ceasing to talk for a moment.
Now that Sangria thought about it, Amara seemed to have drunk quite a bit of alcohol during their conversation.
What a strange skill, the mage didn’t even notice that before he really started to think about it.
“Master Sangria.” Finally Amara called out heavily, setting down his wine cup. “Just ask me your questions, and let us be even.”
“I… This is a bit…”
‘Sudden’?
Sangria didn’t understand what just happened here.
Just a moment ago it felt like the Saint was quietly wooing him, letting them get to know each other and the next moment he was all business.
Was all the affection and longing glances before fake?
It was a good thing if Sangria wasn’t going to break anyone’s heart, but he suddenly felt bitter for some reason.
… As if he was stranded and left behind…
“I do like you, Master Sangria. Genuinely.”
Sangria looked up.
Amara was looking at him with those strange crystal-like eyes, almost unblinking.
“I like how round your cheeks are. How your eyes seem so wet. I like that you’re looking out for your companions. That you’re honestly concerned for Mr. Seven, when his own brethren treats him with distrust. I like how your eyes always go to the attendants around, and how sad you look when you spot injuries or scars. I like how desperately you searched for a way to save Lord Archmage that day.”
He downed another cup.
“But you’re just one man. And I have people to save and protect… And people I wish to reunite with.”
He looked at him sadly.
For some reason it felt like he was saying goodbye to someone.
He held up a wine cup, as if in toast to him, the beautiful dark blue ceramic reflecting moonlight.
“So Master Sangria, raise your cup and ask your questions.”
…
Sangria finally moved his heavy lips.
*-*-*
What awaited Sangria in his bed after that chaotic night was not a sound sleep to his terrible dismay, but another strange dream…
… Alchemist swept back his hair, the oily strands catching on the edges of his mask.
“Nothing to salvage. That’s another one to be repurposed.”
He marked a name with a black dot, in his heart muttering an apology to a wheezing pile of flesh.
There was nothing he could do.
His assistant shuffled papers, then paused:
“… Are we not going to put a prosthetic on that poor watch captain?”
Alchemist cringed slightly.
He remembered the man brought few days ago, his entire arm burned to a charred twig.
They said he had an unfortunate encounter with some crazy terrorist.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I’m waiting until he wakes up and chooses himself.”
“Chooses prosthetic? I guess watchmen may want special ones.”
… Not what he meant.
He meant chooses to have a prosthetic.
Of course, he knew that the watchman wouldn’t actually have a choice here, but he wanted to at least give an illusion…
“… If there is nothing to do right now, I’m going to laboratory to brew some tea. Do you want some?”
“No, sir. Thank you, but I don’t like those for-stomach teas of yours.”
The assistant returned to her papers, not really paying attention to him.
He didn’t mind.
Perhaps, he even preferred it this way.
To be ignored, like a shadow on a wall.
‘… I wish I could take a bath.’
A vain wish that wasn’t going to come true any time soon.
His water usage was limited.
Something to how he reacted to water annoyed the King.
‘… I could at least wash my face a little…’
His thoughts halted, same as his feet that just crossed the doorstep of his laboratory.
A figure was leaning against the window, tapping their foot in an apparent impatience.
He recognized that fox mask.
A few weeks ago a thief broke into his laboratory and… he was actually still not exactly sure what happened after.
He had a bad spasm of sickness that day and his memory was a bit foggy.
What he remembered seemed too absurd to be real.
Alchemist quietly closed the door behind him.
“Can I help you...?”
Seeing how the thief was not thieving and instead lounging on his window, he decided to try a new approach.
“I could use a conversation partner.”
“I’m not a specialist in those, I’m afraid.”
“That’s too bad, but you’re the only one meeting my criteria, so you will have to do.”
“… I have only fifteen minutes max.”
“Then maybe it’s time to become a conversation specialist?”
The figure got up from their perch on the window and instead walked up to one and only chair in the entire laboratory and proudly sat down.
Alchemist stood rooted in place for a moment, staring at the intruder.
Then decided that tea comes first.
He lit up the stove, set water to boil and reached for a tea cup…
‘Should I make tea for them too…?’
His assistant said his tea was awful so it was probably better not…
“I’ll have a cup of tea, yes and thank you.”
The thief was now holding one of the research journals and casually skimming through it.
Alchemist just made two cups of tea without arguing.
“You’re full flesh.” Alchemist noticed with a surprise as he got closer to hand them a teacup.
“Well, you may not know it, but I’m actually extremely beautiful, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You jumped from the twentieth floor.”
“I can also fly.”
Alchemist may not be an expert on that, but he didn’t feel like he was making a sensible conversation.
He sat down on the floor with a sigh and began to sip his tea.
As warm liquid flowed down his throat, his tangled stomach seemed to relax a little.
“… So why are you here? If I may get a straight answer this time?”
“… Wow, you’re actually worse at it than my brother.”
The thief looked at him with something akin to amazement.
Apparently Alchemist just managed to achieve something not many could boast about.
“Your brother?”
“Mhm. Misplaced sense of danger. He would be at least a little bit on guard if a stranger visited him twice.”
“Well, I assumed you were back here to steal things and other such things. Whatever thieves do.”
“…”
The thief stared down at him for a moment in utter silence.
Alchemist looked back at what he said, wondering if he said something wrong.
“… You took me for a thief?”
The figure finally spoke with profound disbelief.
Alchemist took a sip of his tea with a frown.
“Why else someone would secretly sneak into someone’s private place?”
“To assassin… no, wait, I guess it wouldn’t work here. Anyway, I’m not a thief!”
“Oh… Sorry.”
Alchemist took another sip of his tea. It wasn’t that bad, he didn’t understand why the assistant hated it so much.
“…”
The not-thief was looking at him, as if expecting something, but Alchemist wasn’t sure what.
“Sigh…” The intruder seemed to finally give up. “I came to talk. With you. With you specifically.”
“Ah.”
Now that ‘conversation partner’ bit made some sense.
“About what?”
“You’re stealing my clients.”
“… Excuse me?”
“The people down. The ones you secretly sneak out to treat with valuable medicine? The ones you do surgeries for, so they don’t have to give up their body parts?”
Alchemist froze, terror coursing through him.
How did he know? Did he tell anyone? Fuck, if the king learns about it, he….
“Hey.”
The not-thief grabbed his arm and shook him.
“I didn’t tell anyone. No one knows. Damn it, why are you even doing this if you’re reacting with such panic at the slightest mention of it…”
They got off the chair and were kneeling beside him, prying a teacup out of his trembling fingers.
Alchemist only now realized that he spilled hot liquid on himself, the pricking pain of burning hitting him late.
The figure was already holding a cold cloth and carefully wiping the overheated skin, while cursing under their nose.
They smelled of herbs and aromatic smoke.
“Anyway, stop doing that and stealing my clients.”
People down.
Clients.
Secret healing practice.
Something finally clicked in Alchemist’s brain.
He heard from some of those unfortunate people that there was some new mysterious figure roaming around offering strange medicines and healing practices.
He was even shown some of those ‘medicines’.
Pieces of wood and stones, carved with strange symbols and drawings, colorful cloths wrapped around the wounds and powders scattered under the windows.
Complete bullshit if he was asked.
“You’re that quack…”
The figure paused wiping his hand and looked him in the eye.
The movement too quick for him to turn his head away.
He got captured and locked by the vicious gaze, that seemed to tear into his soul…
‘… Dragonfly?’
His momentary sprout of panic was covered up by an absurd thought that suddenly popped out in his brain.
Their eyes were strange.
As if built from thousands of small crystals, the pupil slightly blurry at the edges, as if only a phantom in the myriad of purple colors…
“I’m not a quack. I’m just using… an alternative method.”
‘That’s what a quack would say’ danced on Alchemist’s tongue, but being locked up by the gaze, he didn’t dare to say it.
Finally, the not-thief-and-not-quack turned his eyes away.
“I have no need for competition and it looks like you’re risking a lot doing this, so I hoped you’ll politely restrain yourself from… your charity in the future.”
“… Why?”
“What ‘why’?”
Alchemist forcibly swallowed the fright from a moment ago and pushed himself to say:
“Isn’t it better if there are two doctors around? The more of us, the more people can get help and…”
He paused, because the strange eyes turned to him again.
“Sir.” The intruder called out to him. “Why are you exactly doing this? Risking so much to help people I mean. Is it to wash away your guilt? To feel a bit of pleasure when those people thank you with tears in their eyes? Or is it your way to rebel against those who abuse you…?”
“I-I just want to help people.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason to save someone?”
“...”
The intruder opened their mouth, but nothing came out.
They opened and closed their lips, as if trying to say something, but the words seemed to fail them.
“That… you… It’s not… Ugh.”
They blinked several times, strangely dumbfounded.
It was only the second time Alchemist met with them, but he had an odd feeling that this person rarely was at a loss for words.
“Ah, fuck.”
Suddenly the intruder stood up.
“I’m— … I’ll be back.”
And without a second of delay, they jumped out of the window.
All Alchemist could mumble was:
“… It’s dangerous to jump from so high…”
He was left with two empty teacups.
*~*~*
Author's note: Those two live in different genre. Anyway, I didn't think their conversation would take so long, sorry. Was fighting another writing block. As for the next chapter, we're off to check on Saf as she also has some soul searching to do! In more than one way!
Here is one of the drawings I made for their conversation in this prolonged scene... (I don't know why I always show you only the laziest of my drawings... One day I'll show you a proper piece for this story.)
Adding to the ALT that I hope went through properly without being too long. I didn't really draw Am's weird eyes given I'm bordering on pixel art here. He also should have many many more sleeves and decorations. Like half of this man body should be wears. Here he only has maybe three layers of clothing. Sangria also got his big 'mage' sleeve tugged underneath his arms, because I didn't want to deal with them spilling over the table. But they're there. This is not a very good drawing to show off the fashion of the two cultures, mostly because Sangria isn't really a fashion guy. He has some knowledge of it, but is rather frugal with himself.
Here is a link to a drawing if the picture breaks:
